The aftermath in a hundred objects
by Hawka
Summary: The tradegies and miracles the Wizarding Wars created through a hundred objects. Basically a series of one shots.  Hope you enjoy it.
1. A Venetian glass vase

**I've had this in mind for a while and as I was writting it, the hundred object idea occured to me. I don't know if I'll make it but I intend to try. I hope you enjoy it. Please Review :). **

**Dedicated to LNDcrazygirl.**

* * *

><p>A vase, graceful and curved, Venetian glass, delicate and purple fading to a clear base with a gold patterned rim. Beautiful yet marked with an old water line, the brown dregs hard at the base, long flower stems dry as dust with fragile petals brittle and wilted still filling it. It sat in the centre of his grandmother's sideboard. The only item never touched by duster or polish.<p>

He'd asked about it when he was eight and his Grandmother burst into tears and refused to explain. He'd tried asking Harry but he just said "I never asked".

It took the perception of a fourteen year old to notice how her eyes slipped over it how she never looked at it for more than a moment at a time.

When he was sixteen he identified the flowers as bluebells, like the ones behind the house. His grandmother never looked at them either.

He was eighteen when he asked again. Andromeda again burst into tears but with shaking hands reached with her wand and drew a silvery stand from her forehead, dropping it into a bottle and demanding it's safe return before returning to her grief.

It took him three weeks to go to Harry and ask to borrow the pensive and two more to actually get up the courage to plunge in to the memory.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He was standing in his Grandmother's kitchen, it was early evening. Standing by the sink was a woman who was, despite her comparative youth, unmistakably his Grandmother. The kitchen door swung open and he jumped. Through it came a young woman with bright turquoise hair, hair which matched that of the baby's in her arms. Teddy stumbled backwards in shock,_ his mother with him_!While Harry had shown him endless, wonderful, heartbreaking memories of his parents none were with him for Harry had never witnessed that!

Shifting the baby, him, to one arm, his mother dropped a bundle of bluebells onto the table. Teddy noticed how careful her movements were, like she was terrified she would drop him and felt his lips twitch, remembering the numerous stories featuring her clumsiness and the resultant chaos. His grandmother half turned giving his mother a smile and reaching for the baby him, nodding to the bluebells laughingly saying "more bluebells, I'm surprised there's any left you've been picking those poor bluebells since you were tiny".

As his mother replied she reached the side board and he felt another jolt of surprise as she lifted a beautiful purple and gold Venetian glass vase from the side taking the slightly wilted flowers from it, discarding then and filling it with water with a flick of her wand. She reached for the bluebells and Andromeda, remarking again on the flowers, said "I'm surprised you found any good ones, we're nearly half way through May".

Teddy felt tears cascading down her cheeks, _half way through May_, this was the day that would end in the Battle of Hogwarts, and his as mother replaced the vase on the side this was her last day alive. As the kitchen door burst open and Remus Lupin walked through, kissing his wife's cheek, tickling his son and smiling at Andromeda. Teddy felt his heart break at the perfect family scene, no idea that within hours Remus would have run from the house begging Tonks to "Please, stay and look after Teddy, Please! I'll be ok". That Tonks would have followed dropping her baby, Teddy, _him_, into her mother's arms begging her to look after him. That neither of them would have returned.

Andromeda's tears made sense now. Every time she saw those wilted flowers she saw this scene and every time she saw the skeletal petals and long-dead stems she must remember how long they've been gone, her little girl and the man she loved. No wonder she cried knowing that her daughter would never fill the vase with vibrant colour, never return to her. How could she throw away the remains of those last bluebells, knowing that her baby would never replace them. How could bear to touch that vase knowing it should have been her _daughter_.

Teddy ripped himself from the memory, and as it faded collapsed to the floor of his flat, hands shaking, clutching at air like a child and wept. Wept for the loss of the mother and father he never got a chance to know, wept for the loss of his Grandmother's daughter, wept for the loss of innocence and the realisation of pain, wept for every broken survivor the tragedy's of that war left behind and wept for a Venetian glass vase that could never be beautiful again.


	2. A broken camera

A camera, old fashioned, black and broken, the lens shattered and dust collected in the interior, stained with deep brown. The strap snapped and hanging uselessly next to it. Mud, long dried tracing the base and side. The casing cracked, and the film still inside. The button slightly worn in the centre and the adjustments smooth, it had been well used, well loved even but left broken when a flick of a wand could have returned it to it's original glory.

Lily had been four the first time she'd seen the camera, she'd been sitting on her Dad's lap in his study. She'd asked him about it and he's told her it was "nothing", then sent her to play with her brothers when she wouldn't stop asking. She asked them about it too but her father hadn't told them any more than he'd told her and they saw no reason to ask further.

The camera intrigued her, she started sneaking into the study to examine it further, it was out of reach but she soon knew every visible detail. She told herself stories about it, created entire games based around it – a portkey, a hidden treasure, a gift from a mad friend, an omen, a sign, a disguised anything from the philosopher's stone to the crown jewels. Endless make-believe and let's pretend with the broken camera a stone, flower, box, cushion, toy. In time the camera became make-believe, just another feature of the games she discarded as she grew older, and she forgot any genuine mystery surrounding it.

The camera featured little in her thoughts by the time she turned fourteen and only came suddenly to mind when she, searching the shops for a birthday present for her father, spotted a camera of a similar style and in a shock of inspiration purchased it and a photography book as his birthday presents. She hoped for delight, expected pleased surprise, she got shocked silence and trickling tears, a furious "Lily!" from her mother and confusion from her brothers. She left the room before her own tears could start, furious, hurt and confused that her perfect present had gone down so badly. No one explained, though her parents apologised, he never used it though. She got him socks next birthday but he reacted nearly as badly to that so she went back to quidditch accessories and sweets. He didn't explain the socks either, but her mother said something about "Dobby" and she put the name with the grave at Shell Cottage and solved that mystery quickly enough.

On her sixteenth birthday Teddy gave her a camera with a note reminding her of the make-believe games and hoping she liked the real thing. She kind of felt he'd missed the point, it had been the preservation of the damage that had intrigued her, not the camera, but she remembered how hurt she'd been when her present had been rejected so she faked enthusiasm, thanked him and got it working, to her surprise she loved it. It was a new model that let her flick between moving and muggle as she wished, and she found that being able to capture single moments and preserve them as single images was, for her, as magical as the rest of wizarding world. She took endless joy in the camera and thanked Teddy again and again. Then, she went home for the holidays and snapped a picture of her parents on the platform, and her father went white, she dropped the camera in surprise, the strap catching it. But neither parent would respond to her demands for explanation or her apologises, just telling it was fine but "maybe you should keep that for school". She felt her temper rising but her father looked so lost she suppressed it and put the camera away.

When she told them, a year later, she'd been offered a job as photographer for a magazine, that she'd get to arrange and design the photos of the subjects they gave her, that it was exactly what she wanted, her parents congratulated her, were as supportive as ever but somehow it was hard to miss the tears in her father's eyes though, again, no explanation was forthcoming.

She was twenty and she'd been asked to photograph the 'boy-who-lived' for a new photo set of him 'before, during and after', she was hurt when he said no, then angry when he wouldn't explain, but she pushed the anger down and told the magazine he wouldn't do it. They were disappointed but gave her another project.

She was used to pulling the camera out at the slightest provocation and the family gathering was a perfect opportunity, but her dad moved away and the adults wouldn't let her talk him into to it. She let it go again. She wandered into his study before a family dinner a few weeks later and asked about the camera again. He replied exactly as he had all those years ago "It's nothing". Lily snapped, she was yelling before she'd thought it through, demanding an actual explanation and not constant evasions. Her mother came running but to her surprise her father waved Ginny away and with a sigh agreed that she was owed an explanation. He told her the camera had belonged to someone he'd known a long time ago, before the Second War began. He started to explain further then stopped, telling her he'd show her next time she was round. She wanted to protest but decided a delayed explanation was better than none at all. So she waited and continued photographing anything that stuck her as special or beautiful.

She entered his study again a few weeks later and asked if she could see it, he jumped when she was entered but nodded and extracted the pensive from it's cabinet, telling her they were already in there. Lily refused his offer to accompany her, and before her courage could evade her plunged into the memories.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She was in the great hall and a boy, very young and small was asking a much younger version of her Dad if he could take his photo, holding up a camera and chattering excitedly. The camera looked familiar, like the one on her Dad's shelf but intact and subtly different, flashing as her Dad tried to extract himself.

In the hospital wing, her Dad asleep (pretending?) on a bed behind her and the same boy, being carried into the hospital wing, the different camera clutched in his frozen hands, teachers murmuring about attackers and pictures, the camera being opened and the film disintegrating.

In the great hall, at a feast, probably the start of term, the same boy, again a little older but still small talking nineteen to the dozen and introducing a dripping wet younger boy as his brother, the camera around his neck, telling her Dad about falling in the lake, while he tried to go back to his conversation.

Gryfindor common room, the boy and his brother tapping badges flashing "Potter Stinks" with their wands and muttering spell after spell, the camera on the floor beside them as her Dad walked passed, rolling his eyes before going up the dormitory stairs.

Place after place, the boy again, and again and again, memory after short, passing memory each with the camera around his neck and each in passing or unwanted as her Dad tried to return to whatever he'd been doing. Camera flash after Camera flash followed by cries of "Harry!", "Have you...", "Do you...", "Can I...". With each the regard the boy held Harry in becoming more obvious, and the irritation her Dad felt towards him becoming just as obvious.

Then another memory, she couldn't see her Dad, she was inside the great hall but it was different, damaged and people were carrying bodies in. She heard a movement and searching for the cause noticed a piece of rubble kicked out the way of invisible feet. Following she passed people murmuring quietly to one another, then she noticed a younger Uncle Neville, and a younger Oliver Wood? Carrying a very small body, Lily felt her heart freeze as she recognised the boy that had been running through all the memories, horror and understanding flooding her.

She was in the grounds, her Dad, Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron walking in front of her, It looked to be mid morning and the grounds were a lot clearer, people moving slowly through them in groups. Possibly a few days later she thought. As she watched her Dad paused and moved away from Ron and Hermione, bending to gather something up, as Lily moved closer she recognised it. It was a broken camera, the lens shattered, blood staining the interior a reddish brown and mud, dark and damp tracing the base and sides. The strap was broken, obviously snapped during the fight. Lily could see the all too familiar wear on the button and adjustments and as she looked at it, the damage fresh and the dust absent she could see all the camera flashes, all the cheerful greetings and questions, the eager light in the boy's face.

The memory faded around her as she returned to the study, she could feel her fingers reaching for the edge of the desk, tears forming in her eyes as she understood. The camera had sat broken collecting dust because how could her father repair that damage when he couldn't repair Colin and how could he throw away something that had once been someone's most precious possession. She wondered if he'd even realised he was wearing it when he slipped back into the castle, if it had occurred to him to take it off.

She felt her father's arm go round her as she shook with sobs, comforting her and she could hear words, apologies pouring out of her mouth even as he shushed her. She understood why his reaction to her camera flashes, his resistance to discussing or having his photo taken. He must wait for that little, irritating, brave boy's voice after every flash and was it any wondered he tried to avoid the jarring heartbreak that he must suffer when it didn't come? How could she put him through it, why couldn't she _think_? He must feel guilty, she thought as she buried her face in his shoulder, guilty that he never treated or noticed him as anything more than an irritation, guilty that he crept back to fight in a battle her Dad as always thought of as his, guilty that the little brother who worshipped Colin as much as Colin did Harry had been left alone, a guilt he didn't deserve and couldn't absolve but explained so much. And she'd brought it up again and again! Her obsession with the camera, her present, her _career_! No wondered he refused an answer when she begged for an explanation, no wonder he vanished when she pulled out a camera!

Lily stood in her father's office and sobbed for a boy that had hero-worshipped her father, who stood and fought when he could have run and hid, whose little brother adored him and whose death had been barely noticeable against the many that had died that day. Sobbed for a war that had broken her father, that had hurt every adult she loved and affected every member of their and her generation, that had bereaved every family and sobbed for a camera that could only ever be a remainder of loss and could never again bring joy.


End file.
